Customer Service
by ezontheI
Summary: The elusive Oliver Queen runs into some issues with his PC. In his search to fix it, he finds a much-needed friendship in one of the workers at Microsoft. AU & M.


**A one shot for Reagan and I's favorite couple. Just a bit of AU olicity to get us through to October.**

* * *

"**Falling in love is very real, but I used to shake my head when people talked about soul mates, poor deluded individuals grasping at some supernatural ideal not intended for mortals but sounded pretty in a poetry book. Then, we met, and everything changed, the cynic has become the converted, the skeptic, an ardent zealot." **

― **E.A. Bucchianeri, **_**Brushstrokes of a Gadfly**_

* * *

The papers flew everywhere.

From one corner of the street to the next, crisp, white sheets flew through the air in opposing directions. Felicity Smoak scrambled, ambling around on her red pumps to catch the documents, but inside she'd accepted her defeat. She deserved this for relocating out to Chicago, she reasoned, this was a test of her tenacity.

So instead of cursing the heels her feet had been graced with for the past six hours, she awkwardly pivoted on her toe so she could move in the opposite direction she'd been coming from, ignoring the mess she'd left in her wake. Much in the same way that she'd left things back in Nevada.

The adjustment from Vegas to Chicago wasn't easy-she was beginning to see the truth in "Windy City." She hated it. She hated it so much that she loved it. If she had luscious, dark hair, a long, statuesque figure, and sultry, deep eyes like half the female population here, she was sure it would be no problem. But she was none of those things and stood out like a sore thumb. Felicity was small, and she wore heels she dreaded just to gain some height and power in a field dominated by men. She had blonde hair, but it didn't flow in the wind aimlessly. Instead, it was tucked in a tight ponytail like every other day. It didn't wisp around her like a halo or stop men in their tracks. No, the end of the ponytail would just whack her in the face with the forceful wind, knocking her off balance. And with the whacking would be the inevitable slip of her glasses that always managed to droop down the bridge of her nose. Her glasses had found an ally in the wind, making her look just as gauche and frail as she appeared.

Appearances were nothing, however. She'd been in the business long enough to know that you had to fake confidence until it became real. So she did, and it worked. She was proud of her short frame and dorky appearance. She even reveled in her occasional stammer or klutzy fall. She loved that people thought they knew her, but didn't really. Not at all. It gave her a sense of privacy she desperately needed.

In Vegas, she'd worked as an IT girl, working her way up at a highly acclaimed corporation that gave her a hefty salary. Her desire to stay began to wane as she noticed most of the staff getting cut for mysterious reasons, particularly, a good friend of hers who worked in editing technical manuals, Sara.

Once Sara was cut, Felicity hacked into a couple of files located on the CEO's computer. The company made too much for it not to be able to hire as many workers as they needed, and though the budget had shown they didn't have enough to keep Sara on board, Felicity noticed a downward pattern in the revenue of the company. Money had been extracted, monthly, to pay for the CEO's trips and women, she presumed.

She printed the information and held it on her desk for weeks without ever being caught. It was when she decided she wanted to go another route in her career that she opened up. Sara got hired as a journalist and to reimburse her for what she lost, Felicity handed her the story and evidence, and watched the company fall to shambles. Then she left for Chicago to work at a Microsoft branch, so she could spend time with her first love: computers.

Chicago wasn't Vegas; Felicity was happy with that.

For now, though, she had to focus on getting back to her job before lunch was over. And she did, in record time, two minutes before the clock hit three.

Everything was the same. A couple of windows on one side, cubicles on the other. Further back, behind all the sleek chrome, lay a few offices for important people who did not include her. She shuffled over to her cubicle, tossing her purse onto her desk loudly.

As she did so, a slender brunette wheeled her chair out from the cubicle in front of her. Laurel Lance had been a personal guide to Felicity with her new move. She showed her all the essentials and dished all the gossip between everyone in the company. She made Felicity feel at home, and the two had become great friends.

Laurel smiled at her, gleaming perfect teeth buried behind bright red lips. "See what's going on over there?" Felicity followed her line of eyesight to one of the higher-ups and a man she didn't recognize engaging in an intense conversation.

"Who's that?" She asked, although she had no idea why. She was never one for office gossip, she only indulged so that Laurel had an outlet.

Laurel looked slightly scandalized at her ignorance. Then her face softened into one of pity. "I shouldn't assume you know him. That's Oliver Queen. Huge prick, comes from old money. . ."

Felicity snorts. "Is he your classic rich boy gone wrong tale? Have a lot of girlfriends or something?" She tried to push down the part of her that was anxious to know as she booted up her computer. She was a woman, however, and hadn't failed to notice the cheekbones and body that Mr. Queen had. While profiles weren't much to build off of, she was positive he was good looking.

Laurel giggles. "I wish. He doesn't date. His parents died a long time ago. He just sits in his house holed up all day."

"Miss Smoak!"

Hurriedly, Laurel flips around to her desk and Felicity clicks open an old spreadsheet that she's looked at a gazillion times before. She looks up at her boss with a false startled stare, like she was stunned by his loud tone. Mr. Diggle, or John, as he preferred, looked at her hastily.

"Mr. Queen is having difficulty with his computer. Could you help him out?" He raises an eyebrow, daring her to question him. She does.

"Why doesn't he go to a Microsoft store where they specialize in customer service?" She asks quickly. "No offense, sir, but it's not exactly in my job description." She was way overqualified for petty computer issues by some incompetent man. Those were college days, days she wanted far, far away from her.

A smooth voice cuts John off. "Miss Smoak, is it?"

As she turns to face the owner of the voice, she holds back whatever facial expression that might embarrass her. _His eyes_, she thought. If she thought the outline of him had been attractive, she was out of words to describe the cerulean irises with flecks of gold embedded wildly.

"I'll have you know that I'm typically well versed in my technology. So if I need help, I don't think I'll be needing it from the _Microsoft Store's customer service_." He says the phrase like it's a dirty word, his nose shriveling up in distaste.

She was immediately put-off by his disposition, not finding any of the charm I'm sure many of her female co-workers were finding, if their drool was any evidence.

John moves between the two and settles it. "Miss Smoak will help you just fine."

Angrily, Felicity grabbed the laptop from Mr. Queen's hands, marching angrily to one of the open board rooms. She could feel him following her, but paid him no mind as she sat down at the board table, starting the computer up.

When she does spare a glance, she's surprised to see him smiling. "What?"

"Nothing."

She rolls her eyes and then moves them back to the screen, sighing at the familiar blue, error screen. "Have you just installed a new program or a piece of hardware? Or did you update a driver, install an update, something like that?"

He let's out an exasperated sigh. "You sound like customer service." She cracks a smile at the grumpy insult, though she doesn't want to. "Are you going to ask if I restarted, too?"

She doesn't say anything, just pushes her glasses up and glances back at him.

"To answer your question more thoroughly, _yes_. I'm a graphic designer, so I recently updated Photoshop."

She began her task, not looking him in the eye at all. Oliver watched, mystified, as she typed away, not seeming at all frustrated or hassled. Instead she looked. . .cute. It was a nice adjustment from the downright tempting nature he noticed before. She was a minx when she was talking-almost annoying. But when she wasn't? She was alright. That was more of a compliment than Oliver had given anyone.

Her voice jolts him out of his musings. "Microsoft recommends that you maintain at least 100MB of free space, but from time to time you still see problems with space that low. It's either your storage or your master boot record has been hit with a virus. It's difficult to decipher which, so I just reset your computer to the last working date."

He took the jargon fairly well, so Felicity decided he must really be tech savvy, or as tech savvy as you can be for a man most likely being spoon fed his entire life.

"I must say, you do fine work."

Felicity snorts, but can't find it in her to be self conscious. "Fine work? You sound like my grandmother," she teases. The corner of his lips twitch before he's grinning again. She likes him smiling. She thinks that he should do it more often, even making a mental note to see how many smiles she can get before she never sees him again.

His smile fades and he tilts his head to look at her. "You're new here."

"I am," she nods pathetically.

He shrugs, as if speaking to himself. "You're far more competent than your coworkers."

She nearly blushes at the compliment. "Thank you, Mr. Queen."

His eyes flash. "Oliver, if you don't mind."

She fumbles with her next words. "Then...you should call me Felicity. Or you don't have to, if you think it's unprofessional. Here, everyone calls me 'Miss Smoak,' and I don't hate it, but I like my name, you know? But it's up to you. It doesn't really matter though, because I probably won't ever see you again." When she looks up from the edges of her blouse, she finds him grinning, possibly wider than before.

"It was nice meeting you, Felicity."

* * *

She was getting used to walking along the Chicago streets. There was something so freeing about the air whizzing by her ear and her hair floating around her. She felt like she was flying, as opposed to mere weeks ago when she felt like she was suffocating. She would grow to love Chicago entirely, she was sure. It was so damn easy to love.

She pushed open the familiar doors of her office, greeting her coworkers with a smile. "Good morning," she called out to the occasional person. But they all moved so fast, like they had a time limit. Maybe it was all the coffee they digest.

As soon as she came to her cubicle, ready to lay down her items for the day, John busted out of his office. "Miss Smoak, I need you."

"If you aren't Leonardo DiCaprio in bed naked, I don't want to hear that phrase." He ignored her joke and gave her a stern look.

But she continues, fumbling with her hands. "And if it were him, I'd hope it wouldn't be in that angry of a tone. I was thinking more of a whisper, or a light moan . . ."

"Mr. Queen," her heart fluttered annoyingly, "Has a router that doesn't seen to be working at his home. He requested you, specifically, to come help him fix it." She swallowed the anticipation of seeing him and doused herself with annoyance.

"I'm not a tech worker, okay? He can call someone to do that from his internet provider." Already, however, she was gathering her things.

John glares at her and adjusts his tie, the same color of his skin; dark chocolate with an orange essence. "Mr. Queen is a great contributor. He's very important to our company and we owe him a lot. I know it's not ideal, but it's what he asked for."

And that's how the small blonde found herself nestled between two twin bushes, standing in front of an open gate. She glanced over at the golden sign with Oliver's last name engraved in loopy, Victorian print.

The house/estate was excessively large, but beautiful. A deep wave of sorrow burst over her as she considered what Laurel had said; he was a loner, spending all his time in a big, empty house. She wondered idly, as she walked through the gates and toward the large door, if he felt that sadness, too. Irrationally, she wanted to make him feel better.

She knocked strongly on the big, imposing door until it opened with a creak, revealing a disheveled Oliver. He was so much different than the commanding Mr. Queen who came to get his computer fixed. There was no suit and no anger. He was relaxed, yet restless. He was constantly in a state of unrest, she noticed, his eyes always frowning.

He grins at her. Felicity wishes she could mark it down to keep count.

"Felicity," he breathes. "I nearly forgot...well, come in."

She does without hesitation, then berates herself for being reckless. She trusted Oliver, however. It was instinctual and irrational, two things she never considered herself to be. "Coffee?" He asks, walking her through the expansive walkway.

"I'm more of a tea girl, actually."

He brightens at the sound of her voice. Something about Felicity made him brighten. He liked himself more around her. He felt human again. He felt stronger.

He hoped the wire cutting he performed on his router wouldn't be noticed by his new blonde comrade, but he decided he didn't care if she knew that he wanted to see her again. In fact, he'd be delighted to see that anger light up her eyes like the first day he met her.

But either that anger wasn't severe enough, or it had been downplayed in his memory, because he had never felt so scolded in his life after Felicity had been through with her tongue lashing. For such a small girl she had so much fight in fire that it sent him into a frenzy. She bewildered him, but not enough to confuse him. Just enough crazy, he decided, and just enough simple.

After she'd ripped him apart, she became enthralled in his library that had been in his family for decades. He was never much of a reader and the room was not his favorite by any means, but watching her eyes flicker with recognition as she found a familiar title or felt the excitement radiating from her as she read the back of a new one had him reconsidering his plans to turn the room into a game room. Roy would be sorely disappointed.

"English literature was never my thing," she spoke, passing over the works of the Brontë sisters with a scowl.

"No romance for you?"

She laughs, hearty and real. "Romance, just not that irresponsibly."

He squints his eyes at her, confounded. "How is romance irresponsible?" He moves until he's sitting on a leather chair, then promptly crosses his ankles. Felicity double takes at him before shrugging.

"I should say that love can be irresponsible."

Oliver agreed with that, but only to an extent. "Or, it can be a beacon to happier living. It's always your choice."

Before the two had known it, the day had turned to night, Felicity drank four cups of tea, and they were still in the library sitting beside each other. Felicity was fascinated and eager to know more, but she had obviously overstayed her welcome in her eyes.

But before she had the chance to leave, Oliver reached for her hand and spun her into a small, chaste kiss on the lips. He'd wanted to do it all day, but the moment never felt right. He couldn't say if it felt right then, either, but he couldn't imagine there being another moment. He certainly did not regret the few seconds, either. Felicity's eyes remained shut, long after he'd moved his lips, causing him to smile again.

Her only regret was that she didn't see it.

The rest of the weeks followed suit. Oliver would call in a request at Microsoft and make a specific note to ask for Felicity, his very own 'Tech Girl.' The workers had been baffled that his computer issues increased in frequency and simplicity, but no one ever questioned him. There were no declarations of feelings, no labels, but each night they discovered the depths of his library and ended the night with a gentle kiss, a promise that they'd find a way to see each other again.

Oliver was more lively than he'd been since the death of his parents. He found reasons to get up in the morning, a reason to keep living. The reason wasn't Felicity-they wouldn't tread on that line of co-depency so early on-but Felicity had found him reasons. She made the good things in life so much more clear. She was a translator between him and the world he'd closed himself off to for so long.

Felicity was utterly infatuated. She could deal with a good looking man, but she could not deal with one that possessed the attributes Oliver had. He was grumpy, and she called him on it constantly, but he was many other things. He was introspective, intelligent, and witty, with a touch of dry humor that served to make her lose control. She loved the way that he looked at her, like no one had before. Like he was holding on to every word; it was like he was actually listening.

Things had been progressing naturally emotionally. They clicked. But there was also an underlying tension that prickled in the air. Suddenly, the goodnight kisses became hungry and desperate. It was the tongue in mouth, teeth against teeth with smiles in between, kisses. They both ached for something more. Felicity couldn't remember a time when she yearned so strongly for a man in that way.

It had been a while for both, but they knew what their feelings meant.

Felicity grabbed her purse from her desk, hoisting it on her shoulder. On her way to her car, she bumped into another friendly coworker, Barry.

Barry was cute. He had an infectious smile, pretty teeth, pretty hair, pretty face. Barry was sometimes prettier than her. He was always friendly and always smiling.

"Hi, Felicity," he greeted. Beneath his grin, there was a touch of nervousness.

"Hi, Barry," she greeted back, awkwardly rocking on her feet. They stand in a bit of silence before Barry speaks again, always cheerfully.

"Hey, look...I'm going to go see that superhero flick down at the plaza, and I know you really dig that, so," he pushes both his hands into his jean pockets. "Would you like to come? With me, I mean."

And the "with me" was the most harmful part. "With me" insinuated dating, and while she wasn't opposed to the prospect, he was not her object of desire. If she was going to go see the film, it would be with Oliver's firm, rough, slightly calloused hands between hers, not Barry's slender ones.

"I have plans, but thanks for the offer."

That's all she could say. And it registered to her as she drove to Oliver's house that it was all she was allowed to say. She couldn't say that she was taken or that she and her boyfriend were going to hang out at home and play scrabble. There was no boyfriend. Technically, she was single. She was committed to no one, even though she desperately wanted to be. And what about Oliver? She had no claim on him. Oliver could take out any girl he wanted to. Though she knew the thought wouldn't even be in his mind, the relaxed nature of their relationship frightened her.

She parks her car and nearly sprints to the big, wooden door. She opens it, by herself, and tries not to lose herself in the beauty of the home like she always does. Instead, she searches for Oliver.

When she finds him, he's toying with the fireplace. She's only momentarily distracted by the way his muscles roll and tighten beneath the tight skin of his shoulder blade, revealed by the tank top he was wear. It was the least amount of clothes she'd ever seen on him.

"Are you trying to sneak up on me?" He asks, rolling the wood with a stick. She hears the hint of a smile in his voice and relaxes. Slowly, she peels off her jacket and sighs.

"If I were, you wouldn't know." She winks at him as he glances over his shoulder at her. He stands, walking until he's standing in front of her.

"I didn't know you were coming tonight," he says, though he sounds pleased. Felicity stands and wraps both her arms behind his neck. He leans in on instinct, breathing the ultra sweet smell of her air. She always smelled like cotton candy and he loved it. He hovers above her lips, but she pulls away abruptly.

"Barry asked me out tonight."

Oliver recoils before his eyes flash to a dark, navy blue. "Who's _Barry_?" He spits out, disgusted.

"A guy from work." And then, as if he didn't already know, she reaffirms him. "I said no."

He relaxes, but not by much. His fists clench and he scowls at his newly made fire. "I could...I could kill him."

Felicity laughs, pulling on her grumpy man's arm until they're both wrapped around each other again.

"There's no reason to be jealous," she says, cupping his face in her hands. She pulls him up to look at her, gazing into the eyes she knows so well. "Because I'm yours, and you're mine."

She says it to reassure him, but it's also a question. Oliver knows this, and nods his head up and down so she knows. She does. He tries to hide, in vain, the reaction that the possession of each other makes him feel. He pulls her into a passionate kiss, dislodging him from the bad parts of the world and his mind.

"Did you tell him," he tries between her hurried kisses, "That you have a very influential boyfriend that owns a house with his own gym?" She trails her kisses down his neck, but she's giggling. "A gym that I use every day, particularly focusing on upper body strength?"

"No, I didn't," she laughs as he playfully nips at her collar bone.

He pulls backs, face flushed and, in Felicity's eyes, enviously beautiful. "Why not?"

She shrugs, grabbing his lower back to press him further into her. "I didn't want to assume."

He let's out a soft moan as he meets her undulating hips. "Next time, will you do me a favor?"

She hisses at the fabric of his jeans rubbing against her center. "Anything," she bites out.

"Assume." And then he dives for her neck again.

She giggles loudly until she snorts. He leans down to kiss her nose and she squeals, scrunching it up. Like perhaps any woman, Felicity had learned growing up not to do "woman-like" things. Being feminine meant that you couldn't hang with the men. Being a girl meant you weren't good enough. But like any woman, she did crave it. She enjoyed being held, she liked giggling as much as she liked frilly dresses and the occasional chick flick. She was always faced with the harsh reality that she would never be taken seriously by being that girl, and had subdued herself to slacks and a gender neutral blouse. The only hint of rebellion lay in her heels and red lipstick.

But being with Oliver like this was freeing. She felt that she took his mind off of his own personal demons, but he saved her from her own mind. They saved each other. And she had no way of knowing if this was forever, but it was enough for right now.

She tugged at his tank top until it was pulled off his head and fallen onto the back of the couch. As she ran her hands over the planes of his chest, Oliver buzzed with anticipation.

In the early stages of his infatuation, he visualized her in those red pumps from the very first day. That, and nothing at all. Except the glasses. The glasses had to stay. His mind had been filled with lust and a crazy desire to consume and be consumed by her.

But now, Oliver just wanted to touch. He wanted to know if the dust of freckles across her nose were anywhere else. They were; they were strewn across her shoulder blades, a place he discovered when he removed her blouse and tossed it by his own shirt.

He wanted to know if there were any scars, any blemishes that told a story he didn't already know about her. He wanted to see if it made him feel closer to her. And it did. He felt infinitely closer when he spotted the star shaped birthmark located right underneath her right breast. Once he'd removed the red lacy bra and paid homage to her nipples, rosy like her blush, he'd studied the spot until she told him to cut it out, slightly embarrassed. But still, he made no pretense of subtlety with his tender caresses, running his hands and tongue over the dark spot until she was blushing all over.

He wanted to know the sounds she would make when she came undone. He'd always imagined them to be slow and sultry, deep and raw. He was right, but Felicity was more. Once he'd torn the matching underwear and peeled it off of her body, he circled the wetness of her sex, matching her cries with his enthusiasm. He nibbled around near her clit, teasing her with his breaths until she was a panting mess, gripping his untamed blond tresses with reckless abandon. She pulled him impossibly closer until she rid herself of smooth and low. Her sounds became desperate and whiny. She whimpered and mewed at the sensations, her voice reaching an octave she didn't realize existed. And when she came, she let out a tiny yelp, one that Oliver promised he would hear again.

He wanted to know if she would be hesitant in her touches. Maybe she would stroke him lazily, soft and subtle bringing him to his climax. Or perhaps she was greedy and anxious, taking him into her mouth and worshiping him the way he wanted to worship her. Maybe there would be a ring of her bright red lipstick around the head of his dick, one that she'd have to clean away with her saliva. Perhaps she was kinky. Maybe she liked giving as much as she did receiving. Oliver had no preference to her tactics, because any touch that Felicity offered would be welcomed. He had no expectations.

He never believed that the young woman would ever want to be with him in that way. It was an idea that lit up his eyes and made him smile. He'd never smiled as much as he did when he was in the company of Felicity Smoak.

But his imagination, his fantasies, held no justice to the reality of the circumstance. She wasn't one or the other; Felicity was everything. She gripped him in her hand, sliding up and down firmly, but innocently. And Oliver would have been fine with that action, he was already on the precipice of his own nirvana at the strokes of her hand. Nothing, however, could compare to the visual of her wrapping her lips around him, moaning, sending tingles and vibrations up his spine. She licked, sucked, teased, and traced until he couldn't hold off any longer. He wanted to wait, he didn't want to embarrass himself. He needed to feel himself inside of her, he needed to show her everything he could not say with words. So despite what his body was craving, he pulled her up and to his lips, laying her down so that he hovered on top of her.

Oliver always wanted to know, more than anything else, if it would feel differently.. He's been with a few women-one since his parents death-and though his body was inside and surrounded by warmth, though he was naked and revealed, he'd always felt cold and guarded. And it didn't come as a shock to him that he was right, yet again. Being inside of Felicity felt warm, but just like her brightness, it touched every part of his being. She wormed her way into his soul an unhinged him. The beast that controlled him for so long wasn't dead, but he was fatally wounded, struggling for breath at the hands of Felicity. He felt raw and abashed, for the first time in years. Their touches weren't hesitant because they knew all along.

With the fire roaring along them, they found themselves tangled up in each other, a mass of moans and soft hums before collapsing and panting, only to get back up and connect again. Forehead to forehead, breathing each other in. Being with her felt like falling, except he didn't care where he landed.

As long as he was with her, he would be okay.


End file.
